Monskhood and Gloxinia
by Lost and Never Found
Summary: All great romances have to have their beginning. But what happens when it all comes to an end before it even had a chance to start? Follow the spirits of Kaiba and Kisara through the ages as they find themselves constantly separated from each other.
1. Chapter 1

…**Don't ask. You don't want to know. This is why I should stay OUT of the YGO wiki when I get the urge to wikiwalk. (For those who don't know what wikiwalking is, let me know and I will explain). This is SUPPOSED to be a short little piece; there won't be any more to it I believe. I'm using it to make a point.**

**Disclaimer: I in no way, shape, or form, own the Yu-Gi-Oh! franchise. This is a work of fan creation, and as such is not technically canon. I get absolutely NOTHING from writing it.**

Walking along the hallway, Kaiba resisted the urge to say anything to the owner of the apartment. He wasn't here for pleasure, after all, just to grab what he needed. He was cursing assigning the coding of the virtual world game to another company since it meant dealing with one of the geek squad again. (Never mind he hadn't known that at the time.)

"Here, Kaiba-san," a soft voice called from his right. Turning his head, Kaiba refrained from sneering as he took the offered disk. Bakura Ryo smiled at him, completely unfazed. "My father apologizes for letting this one get separated from the others."

"Hm. He should be," the businessman replied coldly. Taking the disk, he had it safely stored in his pocket. Before he left, he gave the wall of family photos one last cursory glance that quickly became a long stare of shock.

Bakura looked in the same direction as Kaiba and smiled sadly at the familiar photo. "That was the last family portrait we took," he said conversationally. When the darker toned man turned his head to look at him instead of just leaving, Ryo reached up and took the picture down from the wall, holding it in front of himself so it was still easily seen by them both yet more details were able to be seen. "There was a car accident a few months after it was taken. We lost both of them."

"The girl…" Kaiba's soft utterance was the only acknowledgment he gave that he heard what Ryo said.

"My twin sister. Amane." Sighing, Ryo refrained from mentioning anymore. He knew it was probably just a shock to Kaiba to learn about his twin, seeing as he rarely mentioned her. Returning the picture to its former resting place, he said conversationally, "Even without them, my father and I have continued to live on to honor their memories. Good day, Kaiba-san."

Recognizing the dismissal for what it was, Kaiba turned on his heels and left silently, like a dark cloud being chased away by sunlight. His mind was in an uproar, trying to reconcile what he just saw. He cared very little for the elegant woman, studious man, and the young boy who looked far more mischievious than one would ever expect of Bakura Ryo now as an adult. Instead, his mind focused on the little girl…

On Amane…

It wasn't hard to tell she and Ryo were twins. Even in the picture, they looked to be the same age and shared snowy white locks with their mother. It was the differences that made everything in him stop and pay attention.

Her hair had fallen straight down her back, like a silk curtain, only a few strands falling in her pale face.

Bright blue eyes, filled with warmth and laughter, had smiled just as much as that little mouth.

As he paused on the sidewalk outside of the building, Kaiba looked up at the building. He could have sworn he heard a conflict of sounds… The cry of that woman from Egypt, Kisara, as she reached for the priest she loved to keep him from dying… The roar of his Blue Eyes…

And underneath it all, the twinkling laughter of little girl.

…**And thus, with just over 500 words, my little drabble is complete.**

**For those who couldn't figure it out, yes Amane was meant to be Kisara's reincarnation but died in a car accident with her and Ryo's mother (at age 7 according to her wiki page). There's no picture of her anywhere, so I took liberties as is my right as a fanfiction writer in those circumstances.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so I extended this and WON A FANFICTION CONTEST! SQUEE!!!! So here is the extended version, tilted Monkshood and Gloxinia, for those who want to read it. I will not likely add to it at any time, it's just here for entertainment purposes and so anyone could read it.**

**Disclaimer: I in no way, shape, or form, own the Yu-Gi-Oh! franchise. This is a work of fan creation, and as such is not technically canon. I get absolutely NOTHING from writing it.**

**Historical Notes: I've done extensive research as far as historical settings are concerned, and have tried to be as accurate as possible. That being said, the presence of Christian Rosenkreuz in the mockery that was the French court during the time of the War of the Roses is not my fault, it is the game creators. Apparently, they thought he was around in the 15th century, despite history placing him in the 17th century where he belongs. I assume it was the appeal of the Order of the Rose Cross that made them do it, despite the horrid inaccuracy. However, that is the canonical name, so that's what I'm using. Let's just assume he's an ancestor with the same name, alright? I also averaged the times for where exactly the Ancient Egypt arc takes place. The Troy date is what scholars agree is about right, and the New York date is the Edwardian era, for those who are curious. I guessed at the series canonical date based on when the anime series originally aired.**

**_Atlantis—7897 B.C._**

Frantically running into the chaos, as the citizens he swore to protect rapidly became monsters intent on blood, Critias struggled through the mob to reach his own home.

_Let her be alright_, he pleaded to the gods mentally, _Please, let Saria be alright!_

They had only been married a few weeks, but they had been betrothed since they were young. He had met her for the first time three years ago, and the love between them had been instantaneous. Rather than a political union, theirs had become something so much more. He thanked the stars everyday when he woke up in their marriage bed, covered in her long, silvery hair as Saria's warm body cuddled up against him.

_Please let her be alright._

"CRITIAS!"

His heart felt like someone had made a fist around it and clenched. "SARIA!" he called back, hurrying into the halls of their home, his armor clanking against the marble with every step. He couldn't find it in him to care as blonde bangs dangled in his eyes.

Critias froze as he entered their room. His knees buckled, and the sound of his armor and sword hitting the tile floor echoed sharply in his ears, but didn't quite reach him. A cool sensation, like when the sky didn't have enough strength to fully rain so instead there was a faint drizzle, caressed his skin as his entire body went numb.

Blood…

There was so much blood everywhere…

He didn't have the heart to look at the mangled body. All he could do was whisper softly, "Saria…"

_**Egypt—2025 B.C.**_

Noting the position of the sun, Set rose to his feet and gestured to the frantically bowing advisors. "We have seen to all the business that was immediate," he reminded them, successfully keeping his weariness out of his tone, "Let us part company for the day and return to our loved ones."

"Yes, Pharaoh," they muttered. He didn't wait to see what happened next, turning and leaving his throne room with his cloak swirling behind him in his hurry.

Only when he was safely in his rooms did he slow down. Removing his headdress with a sigh, he ran his fingers through his sweaty brown hair, saturated so it was almost black, before beginning the seemingly endless process of removing the jewelry that marked his status. Set hesitated only when it came time to remove the summoning disk from his wrist. His eyes blanked as he recalled the stone tablet whose monster engraved on its surface answered only his call. "Kisara…" he breathed. The pain hit him as if she was in his arms again. Having taken the attack that was meant for him, she willingly died. He would never see those peculiar blue eyes, ivory skin, or shimmering hair again… Covering his face with his hand, he struggled to stop the tears.

The Pharaoh was not supposed to weep… but right now, Set was only a man who had tasted paradise and been forced to watch it die in his arms.

_**Troy—1184 B.C.**_

Agamemnon smiled and waved at his soldiers from where he stood in the house he had established to be his own while in Troy. The city had fallen, with only buildings that the Greeks were using as bases left currently standing. His brother would be happy, and soon he would be back to his wife.

Remembering Clytemnestra made him wince slightly. She was not going to be happy with his trophy.

His trophy wasn't particularly happy with him either.

Running his hand through brown strands of hair only recently cleaned, he finally decided to brave his own sleeping quarters. Stalking past soldiers, he nodded in greeting to those who hailed him while focusing on trying to figure out how to deal with an angry Trojan princess turned slave.

Specifically, she had turned into his concubine.

He let out his current breath in a sigh of frustration before entering his bedroom like the king he was.

Someone had thankfully seen to the girl. Her delicate, white-gold hair was brushed and curled, her dress sheer. Those bright blue eyes of hers seemed to pierce his very core, making him shudder. "Cassandra," he greeted her by her name, figuring that to be best.

"Why do you insist on bringing me with you to your death?" she asked.

_So much for manners_, Agamemnon thought with a flash of annoyance. His narrowed eyes and the fire flaring in their blue depths did little to bother her. Her only sign of nerves came when he began to undress.

"I am a princess of Troy—," she began to protest.

"And your city lies in ruins," he concluded for her, "Its women are now the Greeks to do what we will. You have been placed in my bed. You should consider yourself blessed by the gods."

"I have already been blessed by a god, only to have that blessing become a curse," she hissed at him.

"Those visions of yours," he dismissed, reaching for her and pulling her flush against him. Her beauty appealed to him in ways he couldn't understand. Agamemnon could almost understand Apollo's obsession with her.

She tried resisting, but eventually gave into his ardent demands. As she later lay beside him, she murmured, "When we land, you have guaranteed both our deaths."

"By who?" Agamemnon finally asked sleepily. She said nothing more, and he slept unknowing of what was to come.

_**Château d'Amboise, France—1485 A.D.**_

Christian Rosenkreuz, former leader of the now disbanded Rose Crusaders, was annoyed.

Hiding away in France while the rest of the War of the Roses was wrapped up was not how he intended to be living. For what felt like the millionth time, he cursed the Rose Duelist. He felt almost naked without his old armor, and he couldn't look too many people in the eye unless he wanted his unnaturally bright blue eyes to be noticed and remembered.

"Did you hear? _Viscountess_ Alianora is pregnant,"

"Already?"

Groaning and rolling his eyes, Christian grabbed a goblet of wine from a passing server. The gossiping hens that were the ladies in the "king's" court were in full swing tonight. Briefly, he had a flash of pity for whatever poor woman they decided to chatter about.

"_Oui_, I heard from the _comte _who heard from _Viscount _Beaufort of Turrene himself. Married for a year, and she will soon provide him an heir already."

"Poor girl though… Does the _viscount_ have a good midwife for her?"

"Oh I would hope so, can you imagine the trouble that little thing is going to have?"

"I say it would serve her right. She's the illegitimate child of the former king, didn't you know? Nasty little thing… She's lucky her father could arrange such a marriage for her at all."

Curious now despite his better reasoning, Christian tried to place who they were talking about as he subtly scanned the crowd through brown strands of hair deliberately covering his eyes. _Viscount_ Beaufort was easy enough to place. He was drinking wine by the gallon, as usual. This time, the feeling of pity was much stronger for the _viscountess_. Being married to that had to be…

His thoughts trailed off as he caught sight of a girl dressed like a full lady of the court. Her hair was neatly tucked away in a veil, but he could still see her hairline, what he was sure was a trick of the light turning it white. Blue eyes showed the hurt the gossip was causing, yet she still had a smile on her lips, moving with the grace of a young hind, her slim limbs echoing her youth.

Swallowing thickly, Christian was flooded with disgust that thankfully whipped away all other emotions.

_She was a child._

There was no way she was older than fourteen, at most. Yet her dress, dyed a matronly navy, was already cut to make room for her distended womb, heavy with her husband's child. Christian felt like his stomach had been tied in sailor's knots. No midwife would be able to spare her. She didn't carry a child, she carried her death.

He didn't care if this was the last haven on earth for him. Turning, he left the room with the excuse of having business to see to in town. The disgust he felt on her behalf was enough to stop him from examining why it felt like someone had stabbed him in the back and was twisting the knife.

Christian could not live in a place that catered to such practices that would kill a nymph such as _Viscountess _Alianora before she had a chance to truly live.

_**New York City, New York—1898 A.D.**_

He peeked around the corner, watching for the constable. It wouldn't do for him to be caught now. The loaf of bread and a couple of mealy apples weren't worth much to any of them, but to him it was a regular feast.

A twinkling laugh caught his attention, and he pulled back into the shadows immediately. His heart pounded in his ears as a girl a little younger than him darted after a ball across the street. Her mother was too busy looking in a hat shop window to notice her daughter run off, making him snort. The pretty powder blue dress and white stockings and pinafore wouldn't be so pristine if she continued to play on the streets.

Daniel blinked as he caught a better look at the girl. His mate, Joey, would say she was a real doll. Big blue eyes like his, sort of, set in a perfect face that looked like one of them porcelain dolls you saw in the shops. Her hair was a soft white-gold, so much lighter than his "dishwater" yellow, and hung in twin braids down her back with delicate white ribbons. She was every inch a lady-to-be. Instantly, Daniel was aware of the dirt covering his feet—since who could afford shoes?—and the shabby state of his own shirt and trousers.

He pressed himself closer into the wall. No… He wanted to meet her, and Joey would give him Hell for being such a chicken, but he didn't want to risk it. She was too good for the likes of him to be friends with. Even now, she innocently chased that ball of hers…

…right into the middle of the busy street. Daniel was overwhelmed with a sense of panic. _What is that stupid girl doing? _ the street urchin wondered in fear, feeling like his feet were stuck to the ground.

Ol' O'Malley had been hitting the booze again, obviously. He was charging down the streets without a care of walkers. Words, shouts of warning, got caught in Daniel's throat and the food fell from his hands and into the dirty alley as he tried to force himself to do something. Say something.

…Anything…

Yet nothing came from him, not until he heard that twinkling laugh turn into a scream.

"Catherine Tailor, what have I told you about screaming?" he could hear the mother scold as she finally turned her head to the side, only to freeze like Daniel was. "Catherine…?" he saw her mouth move.

Blood…

There was so much blood…

Swallowing the bile rising up in his throat, Daniel ignored his dropped goods and ran. Ran away from where that pretty blue dress and that white pinafore were rapidly staining crimson. Ran from where bright blue eyes grew cold. Ran from feeling like someone had just taken everything good and wonderful in the world and thrown them against wall, making them shatter like glass.

_**Domino, Japan—2000 A.D.**_

Walking along the hallway, Kaiba resisted the urge to say anything to the owner of the apartment. He wasn't here for pleasure, after all, just to grab what he needed. He was cursing assigning the coding of the virtual world game to another company since it meant dealing with one of the geek squad again. (Never mind he hadn't known that at the time.)

"Here, Kaiba-san," a soft voice called from his right. Turning his head, Kaiba refrained from sneering as he took the offered disk. Bakura Ryo smiled at him, completely unfazed. "My father apologizes for letting this one get separated from the others."

"Hm. He should," the businessman replied coldly. Taking the disk, he had it safely stored in his pocket. Before he left, he gave the wall of family photos one last cursory glance that quickly became a long stare of shock.

Bakura looked in the same direction as Kaiba and smiled sadly at the familiar photo. "That was the last family portrait we took," he said conversationally. When the darker toned man turned his head to look at him instead of just leaving, Ryo reached up and took the picture down from the wall, holding it in front of himself so it was still easily seen by them both yet more details were able to be seen. "There was a car accident a few months after it was taken. We lost both of them."

"The girl…" Kaiba's soft utterance was the only acknowledgment he gave that he heard what Ryo said.

"My twin sister. Amane." Sighing, Ryo refrained from mentioning anymore. He knew it was probably just a shock to Kaiba to learn about his twin, seeing as he rarely mentioned her. Returning the picture to its former resting place, he said conversationally, "Even without them, my father and I have continued to live on to honor their memories. Good day, Kaiba-san."

Recognizing the dismissal for what it was, Kaiba turned on his heels and left silently, like a dark cloud being chased away by sunlight. His mind was in an uproar, trying to reconcile what he just saw. He cared very little for the elegant woman, studious man, and the young boy who looked far more mischievous than one would ever expect of Bakura Ryo now as an adult. Instead, his mind focused on the little girl…

On Amane…

It wasn't hard to tell she and Ryo were twins. Even in the picture, they looked to be the same age and shared snowy white locks with their mother. It was the differences that made everything in him stop and pay attention.

Her hair had fallen straight down her back, like a silk curtain, only a few strands falling in her pale face.

Bright blue eyes, filled with warmth and laughter, had smiled just as much as that little mouth.

As he paused on the sidewalk outside of the building, Kaiba looked up at the building. He could have sworn he heard a conflict of sounds…

The cry of a woman in panic…

The roar of his Blue Eyes…

The twinkling laughter of little girl…

"I'm losing my mind…" he finally grumbled, shaking his head and stalking over to where his limo was waiting. Ignoring a feeling of déjà vu and of a hand clenched around his heart.

**Title Notes: Monkshood--Beware, Gloxinia--Love at First Sight  
**


End file.
